You are the moon that breaks the night . You are the fear that I hate to fight. Times are wrong in all that is done. My treasure is love that I give to only one. Cherrish the treasures given to your heart and never let anything hurt from the start. You chose your path so accept and believe, that peace love and light are needed to breathe.
Never had there been a time when sound, color, and feeling hadn__ been intertwined, when a dirty, rolling bass line hadn__ induced violets that suffused him with thick contentment, when the shades of certain chords sliding up to one another hadn__ produced dusty pastels that made him feel like he was cupping a tiny, golden bird. It wasn__ just music but also rumbling trains and rainstorms, occasional voices, a collective din. Colors and textures appeared in front of him, bouncing in time to the rhythm, or he__ get a flash of color in his mind, an automatic sensation of a tone, innate as breathing.
The Leavers
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Never had there been a time when sound, color, and feeling hadn__ been intertwined, when a dirty, rolling bass line hadn__ induced violets that suffused him with thick contentment, when the shades of certain chords sliding up to one another hadn__ produced dusty pastels that made him feel like he was cupping a tiny, golden bird. It wasn__ just music but also rumbling trains and rainstorms, occasional voices, a collective din. Colors and textures appeared in front of him, bouncing in time to the rhythm, or he__ get a flash of color in his mind, an automatic sensation of a tone, innate as breathing.
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None of us are just black or white, or never wrong and always right. No one. No one exists without polarities. Everybody has good and bad forces working with them, against them, and within them.
With my guitar, I could write my own stories, my own poems, and my own destiny. No one could take away the feelings, the emotions or the truth of my notes. They could hide secrets and provoke images of words that never should be whispered. I could compose the melody of my aching heart and write into it my own happily ever after since no one seemed to think after all my suffering I deserved one. That's okay, I would make my own.
I want to wake up every day I have left to the warmth of your lips on mine, the sound of your voice singing next to me, the feel of your fingers on my skin and your heart beating music with mine.
If life throws you a few bad notes or vibrations, don't let them interrupt or alter your song.
I enjoy melancholic music and art. They take me to places I don't normally get to go.